And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten:

That's all I reck.

Bel. I fear, 'twill be revenged:

'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone pursued me!-Polydore,

I love thee brotherly; but envy much,

[Exit.

Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges,
That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,
And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done :

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock;
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay

Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him

To dinner presently.

Arv. Poor sick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,

I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood,

And praise myself for charity.

Bel. O thou goddess,

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valour,
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange,
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

Gui. Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body 's hostage
For his return.

Bel. My ingenious instrument!

Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion

Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

Gui. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

[Exit.

[Solemn music.

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother It did not speak before. All solemn things

Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,t

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for !

Arv. The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one-half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find

The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare'

*

Might easiliest harbour in ?-Thou blessed thing!

Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy !—
How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you see:

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

Gui. Where?

Arv. O' the floor;

His arms thus leagued: I thought, he slept; and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answer'd my steps too loud.

Gui. Why, he but sleeps:

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;

With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,

And worms will not come to thee.

Arv. With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,

I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack

The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azured hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock † would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming

Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd inoss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground‡ thy corse.

Gui. Pr'ythee, have done;'

And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,

* A slow-sailing vessel.

I. e. protect it from winter's storm.

†The redbreast.

And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt.-To the grave.
Arv. Say, where shall 's lay him?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be't so:

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices

Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother; use like note and words,

Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee:
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse

Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv. We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:

And, though he came our enemy, remember,

He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty, rotting

Together, have one dust: yet reverence

(That angel of the world) doth make distinction

Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely:
And though you took his life, as being our foe,

Yet bury him as a prince.

Gui. Pray you fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.

Arv. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin. [Exit BELARIUS. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;

My father hath a reason for❜t.

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,

Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;-
Gui. Fear not slander, censure* rash ;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
† Seal the same contract.

* Judgment.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN.
Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come, lay him down.
Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight more:
The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night,
Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces :-
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herblets shall, which we upon you strow.—
Come on, away: apart upon our knees.

The ground, that gave them first, has them again ;
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Imo. [awaking]. Yes, Sir, to Milford Haven; Which is the way ?

I thank you.-By yon bush ?-Pray how far thither?
'Ods pittikins!* can it be six miles yet?

I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow :-O, gods, and goddesses!

[Seeing the body.

These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care on't.-I hope, I dream;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
I tremble still with fear: but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
A headless man !-The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial+ face-
Murder in heaven ?-How ?-'Tis gone, Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.-To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous!-Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,-damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O, Posthúmus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's that?
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,

*The diminutive of God's pity.

† A face like Jove's.

+ Lawless, licentious.

And left this head on.-How should this be? Pisanio?
"Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. Q, 'tis pregnant, pregnant! *
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: Oh!-
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those

Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

Enter LUCIUS, a CAPTAIN, and other OFFICERS, and a
SOOTHSAYER.

Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea: attending
You here at Milford Haven, with your ships:
They are here in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome ?

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the cónfiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Sienna's brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind.

Luc. This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.-Now, Sir
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?
Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision
(I fast, and pray'd for their intelligence), Thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends
(Unless my sins abuse my divination)

Success to the Roman host.

Luc. Dream often so,

And never false.-Soft, ho! what trunk is here,
Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building.-How, a page!—

Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather:
For nature doth abhor to make his bed

With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.

Let's see the boy's face.

Cap. He is alive, my lord.

Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.-Young one,

Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems,

They crave to be demanded: Who is this,

Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he,

That, otherwise than noble nature did,

Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest

* A ready, apposite conclusion.